Dragon Age: Lawless
by Comiendo
Summary: The story of an apathetic dwarf, a horny elf and a clumsy human who find themselves in less-than-ideal situations. Part I - Chapter 1-TBD This is fan fiction based upon Bioware's franchise and is in no way associated with the company.


"Wait, please, I'll give Beraht his protection fee; just please don't..."

A loud thunk came from the alleyway behind Figor's Imports, ending as quickly as the conversation that caused it. Walking around from the stone corners of the alley, which glowed orange from the light of the lava pits, came a casteless dwarf, his hair in a cornrow pony and his tan face branded with the black mark of his nonexistent status. His small, light green eyes were focused on the sovereign he was throwing up in the air while whistling his favorite tune. In his other hand, copper and silver bits laid protected by fingers scared from hard labor. His bitter and tattered look was a reflection of his cynical sarcasm as well as his apathy for everything and everyone but himself; he was of the Carta, and even if his face brand did not exist, people would still know he was a criminal.

The casteless looked to his right, examining the entrance to the Proving Grounds. His thoughts were those of questioning, as he could not comprehend why anyone would be stupid enough to fight for something as subjective as honor and not as concrete as money. Indeed, this dwarf was extremely pragmatic. Underneath his petty exterior lied a genius who could critically examine his society while simultaneously not caring about how it had subjected him. He knew he was making more money than most of the lower castes, and which that he knew how much more valuable money can be over tradition and honor. This dwarf had the makings of a mastermind, the only barrier was the dirt above him.

Once he had reached Dust Town, the dwarf paused to examine the silvers and coppers resting on his palm, analysing its potential.

"Well, I could just tell Beraht he only had a few coppers," he whispered to himself as he reflected on his potential choices. The casteless then placed all the silver and the sovereign into his pocket and proceeded to move past the dilapidated buildings and groups of homeless dwarves. He walked with an air of elitism; he regularly mocked the beggars in his thoughts for being locked into a mindset of tradition over pragmatism. He often reflected on how those dwarfs could make so much more if they would simply begin to work for the Carta. Of course, this dwarf had an advantage over the others: his ability to lie. Because he was able to manipulate those above him so well, this dwarf had conned the Carta out of a large amount of money. He had seen what bad lying could do to a casteless working for Beraht, and knew he had a gift worth flaunting.

The dwarf was at the door of the Carta headquarters. After sticking the necessary token into the expressionless mouth on the door, he proceed to enter after a fellow dwarf let him inside. He followed the dirt walls down to Beraht's office, where he was sitting at his desk, attempting to write something down threw his elongated, brown beard. His constantly bitter expression was expressed by his thin eyebrows, and as he looked up at the casteless sitting across from him, his long hair fell back alongside his lifting face. Beraht then leaned back in his chair and examined the dwarf in front of him.

"Do you have my money?" The words exited Beraht's mouth relatively harshly. Due to his apathetic nature, the dwarf was unfazed. Displaying his lack of fear for Beraht, the dwarf took a short breath to answer.

"Does a nug shit in the street? Of course I have your stupid money." The dwarf threw the few coppers he got from Figor onto the table between them. Anger filled Beraht's face like a golem filled a doorway. After staring at the coppers, Beraht looked back at the dwarf.

"Are you trying to play me, boy?" Beraht said threatening. "The protection fee is at least one sovereign. Does this look like one sovereign to you?"

"No, it looks like three coppers. I had no idea you were going blind on top of your already worsening stupidity." The dwarf replied without a smile on his face. One thing to be noted about this dwarf was his constant neutral expression. Regardless of what he was feeling on the inside, this dwarf was able to mask it under a layer of emotionless appearances. A smile would have alluded disrespect to Beraht, but the lack of expression intimidated Beraht, although he would never admit. Beraht, processing the insult he had just received, began to lean forward onto the wooden table, which had already been cracked in several places by the results of Beraht's anger being unleashed.

"You better tell me why there is no sovereign on my desk before your blood becomes the dye on my rug." The dwarf looked down and examined the white rug laying on the stone floor below them. While the majority of the headquarters was a series of dirt tunnels, Beraht's office was a special room with gray stone walls, floor and ceiling. The door and the table were made out of a dark brown wood, most likely obtained from the surface, and the torches that lit the room were as far away from these things as possible.

"Us dwarves are very prideful people, you know that." Beraht's nod was not the only reassurance that was true; the bloodstains all over Beraht's wall connotated a man with a reputation to protect.

"Any duster could have told me that, how does this get you off the hook?" The dwarf then leaned back in his chair and stared intently into Beraht's flaming eyes. He knew what he was going to say had to sound remotely intelligent and probable, or he would end up like the stains of life's red paint across the gray stone.

"Well, Beraht, that means that here in a dwarven city, the demand for foreign imports is extremely low." The dwarf explained as Beraht was getting ready to pounce.

"You're full of shit!" Beraht yelled as he thrusted himself across the table and stabbed the wood next to the dwarf's hand with a knife. "Before you came along, he was paying in full every time the Carta demanded payment. All of a sudden when you start collecting, he can only pay in fucking coppers?!"

The dwarf had been in this position before, threatened and facing death provided the wrong words were spoken. Although his exterior appeared calm, his insides were lit with the fires of frustration. The fuel was not Beraht's disbelief, but rather that he had to make the connection for Beraht himself. With a sigh, the dwarf continued on.

"If you paid attention to what has been going on in the city, you would know that yesterday was when your duster got caught fighting in the Proving. When scandals like that happen, Dwarven nationalism and traditional fervor go up and inversely demand for imports goes down." This answer by the dwarf was satisfactory enough for Beraht to sit back into his chair and return to a state of normalcy. The dwarf had done it again; his lies continued to work on the most powerful crime lord in Orzammar.

Beraht stood up and walked over to a corner of the room that was behind his desk. The desk, which was on the opposite side of the room from the door, was covered in various papers with series of coded messages written on them. Beraht forcibly pulled a brick out from the wall, relieving another piece of paper that would be added to the pile. Only in this case, it would contribute to the collection on the dwarf's side of the table.

"Alright, casteless," Beraht said as he threw the paper down in front of the dwarf. "I can't prove you are fucking with me, and it always seems like you know your shit." The dwarf began to read the paper, his eyes swaying from left to right as he absorbed the message. "On top of that, you do jobs that take other dusters full days in a third of that time." Between what Beraht was telling him and what the paper said, he knew what was about to come next. The dwarf braced himself for his next assignment.

"Your name's Mokka, right?" Beraht's question was met with the dwarf's frustration.

"Yes, that's my name. I've only been working under you for what seems like a fucking eternity." Beraht did not appreciate the sass he was receiving from Mokka; he was, however, powerless to do anything about it. This was because the message on the paper was an order from the outside Carta to send their best agents to the outside world.

"As you most likely know, the Carta representatives on the surface have been... shall we say, less than effective." What Beraht was speaking of was the incident in Denerim. The Carta had assigned some of its members to disguise themselves as guardsmen and take as many weapons and armor as they could so they could in turn sell said products on the underground markets of Thedas. This was done frequently in Orzammar with few problems occurring, thus the surface Carta adopted their model. Unfortunately, the surface Carta only appointed dwarves to disguise themselves as human guards. The result was a slaughter, and the surface Carta lost many of their finest members.

"If you are referring to the Denerim guard incident, then I regret to inform you that your partners on the surface are more than just ineffective." The two dwarves stared at each other in a moment of awkward silence. "In case you are too stupid to understand my allusion, I just called your surface partners disgraceful."

Beraht had a look in his eye, the kind that insinuated that he wanted to kill Mokka. Unfortunately, what he said was true: the surface Carta had become disgraceful and sloppy like a premature ejaculation. Beraht got up and began to pace back and forth slowly, attempting to collect himself and give Mokka his response.

"Normally, talk like that would get your ass hung in the center of Dust Town. But, with our surface partners as stupid as they are, I need to send someone remotely competent, and that would be you." Beraht walked back to his chair, sat down and reached out his hand. "Congratulations, you're out of this pit."

This had been the news Mokka was hoping for and the reason he was saving all the money he could. His ability to outshine his other Carta members had proven to be effective, for now he would be in a place where he would be able to use his money without rejection from higher castes. His intent was not material, however. He knew what money meant in the Carta: power. Mokka's desire for more money led to his development of a plan to take control of the very organization he worked for. He had deduced the higher up in the chain of command a Carta member is, the more money he or she has and thus more influence and power within the organization itself, which resulted in more money. Mokka's greed fueled his resolve and, in this moment, his pride. He grabbed Beraht's hand and shook it. the deal was done: Mokka was now a surface dwarf.


End file.
